warriorsfanficfandomcom-20200213-history
Bust Your Confidence Part 1
Part 1 of Story 3. The Story Fireheart’s POV I was a little nervous, to be honest. This was the first time I had talked to my parents since Sandstorm told me she was going to have kits. My parents didn’t know; in fact, only a handful of cats in the Clan knew. I mean, it’s not something you generally announce to the entire Clan. Everyone finds out when a she-cat starts living in the nursery. But I decided that actually telling my parents the news would be nice to do. So all four of us—my mother, my father, Sandstorm, and I—were gathered around the fresh-kill pile after a long day of hunting, making small talk. “Did you catch this kingfisher, Sandstorm?” my mother, Willowpelt, asked as she bit into the bird. “It was many moons ago when I was young enough to catch those buggers.” “Oh, they’re not that difficult,” meowed Sandstorm. “You just have to find one that’s about to dive into the water close to shore, stick out your paw, and there’s your fresh-kill.” She glanced over at me with what I thought was a get-on-with-it expression on her face. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, I can’t hold it in any longer.” I took one last bite of the mouse I was eating and stood up, my parents staring at me. “Sandstorm’s going to have kits,” I announced. “What?” hissed Sandstorm; I guess it hadn’t been a get-on-with-it expression on her face. “Our first grand-kit!” my mother cried, pressing her nose to mine. My father, Whitestorm, did the same to Sandstorm, his eyes filled with pride. “Fireheart,” mewed Sandstorm, stepping away from my father, “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone yet.” “Don’t worry,” Whitestorm reassured her. “Your secret is safe with us. When Willowpelt was going to have Fireheart and his siblings, she wanted to tell everyone, but we kept it a secret until she went into the nursery.” “Okay,” murmured Sandstorm, still not looking very convinced. “We got a few materials from that tree by the nursery, and we’re going to make a beautiful nest using some of the old moss.” “Oh, can I see what it looks like so far?” asked Willowpelt eagerly. “Sure!” The two she-cats then padded off to the nursery on the other side of camp. Whitestorm and I looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then he nodded and purred, “I’m really happy for you, son.” “To tell you the truth, I’m terrified,” I mewed. “I don’t know how to be a father.” “No one does,” replied Whitestorm. “Look at me, I was a piece of fox dung. I was off hunting and fighting all the time. I never got to be around you.” “You’re not putting much confidence in me, father,” I growled. “I mean, I’m already up all night thinking about this.” “Confidence,” murmured Whitestorm. “Toms learn a lot about that from their fathers. I was a very determined warrior when I was your age. A lot of cats thought I was going to be deputy when Bluestar passed away and Onestar became leader. And Onestar wanted me to be deputy, too. But I turned it down; I wasn’t confident enough for the job. So it went to Yellowfang, and I continued to be a senior warrior. Did I ever tell you this?” “No, you didn’t,” I mewed quietly, shaking my head. “You would have been a great deputy. You’re the smartest cat I know.” “It’s not just about being smart, son,” meowed my father. “Being a father—no, being a warrior—is about one thing: confidence. You have a few moons to figure out if you have any.” Featherpaw’s POV This was getting ridiculous. Really ridiculous. The rest of New Directions and I were in at the Carrionplace, as usual, and going through our dance routines with Thornclaw playing the piano and Fireheart leading us through it. But we had no enthusiasm whatsoever! Especially those new Cheerios—Squirrelpaw, Leafpaw, and Sorrelpaw—who looked completely out of place. For she-cats who constantly had to do rigorous routines, they were really out of sync. “Could we stop?” I mewed loudly. Thornclaw stopped playing the piano with his usual eye-roll. “You don’t have to ask me every time you have to go to the dirtplace,” meowed Fireheart. “You can just go.” “It’s not that,” I hissed. “It’s the choreography.” “What’s wrong with the choreography?” he asked, puzzled. The truth is, I thought it was the enthusiasm that was wrong, not the choreography. But earlier in the day, Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw had approached me at the training hollow. “It stinks like crowfood,” Squirrelpaw had snarled. “It’s completely unoriginal,” added Leafpaw. “Aren’t you two going to get exiled from Cheerios if you talk to me?” I asked hesitantly. “Silly furball, we’re part of a mini-Clan now,” purred Squirrelpaw with fake kindness. “And you need to tell Flame Shoe that he needs to work on his dance moves.” Now I stared back at Fireheart and recited what I had planned to say to him. “We can’t compete with Vocal Adrenaline with these steps. You’re a great vocal mentor, Fireheart, but…” I glanced at Squirrelpaw. Her green eyes glared at me. “…you’re not a trained choreographer,” I mewed. “That’s what we need to be the best. We need Longtail.” “He’s the best dancing cat in the Clans,” Squirrelpaw had told me. “He works with Vocal Adrenaline.” “Rumor has it that, when he was a kittypet—which he was at one point—some Twolegs considered putting him on that Broadway show, Cats,” mewed Leafpaw, “and that was supposed to be with Twolegs dressed like cats, not actually cats!” I repeated this back to Fireheart. He rolled his eyes and growled, “Just because they considered him to be on some Twoleg show doesn’t mean he actually performed.” “Did you ever perform, Fireheart?” Squirrelpaw intervened. Fireheart looked at his paws sheepishly. It was the first time I had seen him beaten by an apprentice. “After you were an apprentice, I mean,” she went on. “Did you ever sing and dance in front of other cats?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he started Thornclaw up again on the piano. Fireheart didn’t speak for the rest of the rehearsal. Fireheart’s POV “I wanted to perform,” I told Spottedleaf as she was organizing her herbs. “That was my dream. I just didn’t have the…” I drifted off, thinking back to the conversation with my father. “…courage?” Spottedleaf finished my sentence, looking up from the marigold she was stacking. “They say it takes more certainty than talent to be a warrior—I guess it’s the same to perform.” I sat down on the clean moss that Spottedleaf had lined the den floor with a few days ago. “I guess I’m also nervous about being a father. I want my kit to be proud of me.” I glanced up at her. “I hope it’s okay with you that I’m telling you all my problems. I don’t want you to feel awkward…” “No, really, it’s fine,” she mewed quickly, turned her amber eyes back to the marigold, even though it was perfectly stacked. “I mean, I’m not Tigerclaw’s mate, of course, but we have a…a relationship, like you do with Sandstorm…” “Right,” I murmured. “You’re in a relationship, I’m in a relationship,” she started to ramble on. “Right,” I mumbled again. Now I was the one starting to feel awkward. “How is Tigerclaw, by the way?” “He’s great, really great,” she meowed briskly. “You know, he has his flaws, but he is who he is, and he has a lot of confidence.” She glanced up at me again, her eyes sparkling, and then quickly turned back to the herbs. “Yeah,” I muttered. For some reason, I felt myself grimacing at the thought of Tigerclaw and Spottedleaf being…well, talking about them like that. It would be quite a while before I could figure out why. I left the medicine den and headed over to the fresh-kill pile and the two cats that were gathered around it. One of them was Tigerclaw, biting into a magpie which, judging by the amount of blood and feathers on his face, was his fifth of the day. And the other cat was… “Darkstripe?” I mewed in disbelief. “I thought you were exiled.” “I am, Fireheart,” he replied, sharpening his claws on a rabbit bone. “But I’m allowed to visit, as long as I don’t go near the kits, apprentices, queens, and elders, unless a warrior is watching me. I came to visit you, remember? Besides, Deadfoot and I go way back. I came back to convince Onestar that we needed to keep Deadfoot as a warrior instead of just whisking him off to the elders’ den.” Tigerclaw looked up from his magpie, which was already almost completely gone. “Here comes Deadfoot.” “Mouse dung, Sandstorm and I were supposed to go hunting for a hare for him,” I hissed. “We figured he needed a present after all of this.” Deadfoot limped through the entrance tunnel, carrying a scrawny mouse that he had somehow managed to catch. His four twisted paws slowly carried him towards us, his muscles bulging from the simple walk across the camp. “It’s good to be hunting again,” he panted as he dropped the mouse on top of the fresh-kill pile. Confused? You see, Deadfoot was born with one paw twisted in an odd angle; that’s how he got his name. Though he was never as strong or as fast as the other cats, he still managed to perfect a special hunting and fighting style for himself and became one of Onestar’s most trusted warriors. But he had a little problem: he was addicted to poppy seeds and would frequently steal them out of Spottedleaf’s den. I think that was how Darkstripe got the idea to steal poppy seeds himself, since he and Deadfoot were good friends. Anyways, Deadfoot made the mistake of eating a ton of poppy seeds before leading a hunting patrol. He fell into the gorge where the river ran, and he wouldn’t have survived if it hadn’t been for the other warriors in the patrol. Still, he was left with permanent damage; all four of his paws were now twisted and barely usable. He spent a few moons in Spottedleaf’s den and was told he could never be a warrior again. Luckily for him, right after Deadfoot moved into the elders’ den, Darkstripe came to visit McKinleyClan for the first time since he was exiled, to warn me about coaching the Glee Club (his former position). He convinced Onestar to make Deadfoot a warrior again, and today had been the first time that Deadfoot went on a solo hunting patrol since his injury. That was why Sandstorm and I had planned to go hunting for a big, juicy hare for him, but it seemed that both of us forgot. “I’ll never be able to go to Gatherings again,” Deadfoot was saying. “I know Onestar, he thinks it’ll ruin McKinleyClan’s reputation. And I have no chance of becoming deputy if Yellowfang ever steps down.” He snorted. “Then again, that’ll probably never happen.” Just then, Barley approached the fresh-kill pile, carrying a hare in his mouth that was so big, he could barely wobble over to us. “Did Sandstorm get that?” I asked. “Where is she?” “I hunted it,” he panted, sounding just as tired as Deadfoot. He placed the hare at the injured warrior’s twisted paws. “Sandstorm said she needed to rest, because she’s going to have…I mean, going to go on a border patrol tomorrow.” I sighed. Barley was one of the few cats who knew about Sandstorm having kits, and he wasn’t very good at keeping secrets. “Look at it,” growled Deadfoot, staring at the hare. “What’s wrong with it?” asked Tigerclaw. “Look at its big paws. Those paws must have carried it many fox-lengths. And to just be suddenly cut down like that, not able to run anymore…it must be so cruel.” He pushed the hare away with his nose. “I can’t eat this,” he whimpered. “You know, this is nice,” I meowed loudly, eager to change the subject. “I can’t remember the last time I just shared tongues with the other toms. We get to talk about our feelings.” “You want to know what I’m feeling?” snarled Tigerclaw. “After Deadfoot, I was next in line to become deputy, and that’s still not going to happen because of that fox-hearted Yellowfang.” “Oh, please, my life is a disaster,” cut in Darkstripe. “I have nothing to do, living as a stray in Twolegplace, except look in through windows and watch that Twoleg show, Desperate Housewives.” “I’m afraid of a she-cat who sounds like a shrew,” muttered Barley. “I know how you guys feel,” I mewed, ignored Barley’s comment. “I apparently can’t dance.” “I can’t walk properly!” yowled Deadfoot. “That apprentice with wheels for back legs can hunt better than me.” I blinked, realizing how much pain Deadfoot was in, and not just physically. Both he and my father could have been great deputies. Gently placing my undamaged paw over his mangled one, I whispered, “I’m sorry.” The other three toms each placed their paws over Deadfoot’s other three paws. Then Darkstripe started to sing, “For he’s a jolly good fellow…” “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” I joined in. “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” the rest of the toms sang, “that nobody can deny.” “Hey, that was pretty good,” I meowed. Then I jumped up and sang, “This is how we do it!” And that’s when things started getting a little crazy. A moon ago, I would have agreed that four grown toms rehearsing hip-hop acapella songs and dance moves in the middle of camp, with me being one of them, was embarrassing. But jamming it up with Tigerclaw, Deadfoot, and Barley really got my confidence back. Deadfoot thought we should be called, “Crescendudes,” while Tigerclaw thought “Testostritones” was more tom-ish. And then, a single word escaped Barley’s lips, and we knew we had our name: “Acafellas.” Of course, Darkstripe got in the way, a lot. He would sneak into camp and run towards us in the middle of practice, with his fur poorly groomed as he yowled, “I’m ready to sing and dance, Fireheart!” “Darkstripe, we voted,” I would explain to him calmly, “and we agreed, when you’re in the group, it’s creepy.” Eventually, Onestar doubled the guards around camp, and once again, we had peace during our rehearsals, not counting the occasional behind-the-back comment from an apprentice. Then, during our first evening rehearsal, I heard a shrieking voice: “FIREHEART!” Sandstorm made use of her name and stormed up to us. “If I don’t get some sleep, I could damage the kit.” “I’m sorry, Sandstorm,” I apologized. “I’ll bring a mouse or something to the nursery in a few moments.” Featherpaw’s POV I staggered towards the Carrionplace, balancing the plate of cookies in my mouth. The usual crowd was there, minus Fireheart. Crowpaw was practicing playing the piano, and I tried to ignore his handsome look of concentration. “He’s not coming,” I meowed, setting down the cookies. “What happened?” asked Crowpaw. “Well, I stole these cookies from Twolegplace and brought them over to the warriors’ den. I wanted to say I was sorry to Fireheart for what I said. But then he told me that I was right, and if it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t have started Acafellas. I tried to tell them that we needed him—he’s missed six rehearsals in the last moon, and when he’s there, he’s not really there. And then he said that that’s why we should get Longtail to be our choreographer. He’s apparently still going to be at rehearsals to help us sing, but he doesn’t have time for New Directions and Acafellas together.” “Of course he doesn’t want to help us,” snarled Crowpaw, “after you scratched his heart out.” “Then why did he thank me?” I retorted. “The goal is to win,” Leafpaw cut in. “And now that Fireheart wants us to hire Longtail, we can.” “He doesn’t want us to,” mewed Crowpaw. “He just doesn’t have the confidence to coach us anymore. Toms are really sensitive about this kind of stuff.” “So you think this is my fault?” I asked in disbelief. “Do you see anyone else here with a plate of ‘I’m sorry’ cookies?” he smirked. “I’m bored,” interrupted Squirrelpaw. “All those in favor of hiring Longtail…” She raised her tail to show her vote. Leafpaw, Sorrelpaw, Hollypaw, Stormpaw, Mothpaw, and Ravenpaw did the same, and I did, too. Only Crowpaw refused to agree to the vote. Crowpaw’s POV After rehearsal, when we were heading back to camp, I walked alongside Featherpaw. “You can’t do this to Fireheart!” I meowed. “Do what?” she spat. “Make him a hero? Once we hire Longtail and win Nationals, he’ll thank me for it. Besides, like Leafpaw said, it’s about winning.” “Since when?” “Look, you can have your popularity, and your place on the Special Guard, and your Cheerio future mate, but this is my one shot. If this doesn’t work, my whole apprenticeship will be an embarrassment.” “Wait, wait, wait.” I stepped in front of her. “Is this one of those she-cat things where you’re angry about one thing, but pretending to be angry about something else?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she growled. “Well, for a while there, you were kinda all over me,” I murmured. “And now you just yell at me all the time. You still seem pretty upset about what happened when we were alone together at the Carrionplace.” “I’m not,” she meowed firmly, trotting around me and continuing back to camp as I followed her. “I’m moving on and I’m focusing on my training now.” “You wanna talk about it?” I asked. “No!” She whipped around. “And neither do you. It’s kind of ironic that you’re the most popular apprentice, maybe even the future deputy or leader, and I’m just this piece of crowfood, but I have enough confidence to say out loud that what happened between us at the Carrionplace was real. You have feelings for me and you don’t have the strength to admit it.” Oh my StarClan, I thought. Can she read minds or something? “We’re hiring Longtail.” Once again, she turned back around and started again towards camp. This time, I didn’t follow her. “Even if it means me quitting?” I called after her. She stopped, and everything was silent for a heartbeat. “Yes,” she mewed without looking at me, then disappeared into the forest. StarClan, what have I done? Yellowfang’s POV “This is good,” I purred, stretching in my spacious den as Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw finished giving their status report on the Glee Club to me. “The seeds of destruction are beginning to grow.” “Fireheart barely shows up for rehearsals,” Leafpaw mewed brightly. “Oh, no, no, no,” I snarled. “Barely won’t do. I will not rest until Glee Club is dead. And what about this Longtail cat? Is there any chance he will help them?” “They’re soft,” meowed Squirrelpaw. “He’ll eat them alive. After a day with him, at least one of them will quit or jump into the gorge.” “You know, she-cats,” I remarked, pausing with my stretching (which is something I rarely do), “there was a lot I learned from being the sole female member in the Special Guard’s history. Back when we had that dispute with AdrenalineClan, I fought in the battle at Fourtrees. It reminded me of those sheep herds near the Twoleg farms, where one Twoleg with a big stick leads the sheep and they all follow him. So I, being the master battle planner that I am, decided to take down the Twoleg leader and then go after the sheep. There was never a greater leader of AdrenalineClan, and never a leader of AdrenalineClan who died in such a humiliating way as him.” I sat back up and looked back and forth between Squirrelpaw, my apprentice, and Leafpaw, her follower. “You need to go after these gleeks or whatever they call themselves—oh, that’s right, Fireheart refuses to call them that. That’s like me not calling the new members of my mini-Clan Cheerios. They stink like crowfood, but they’re Cheerios. Anyways, I want my full deputy rights back, and Onestar isn’t going to give them to me if he sees Fireheart as a potential alternative deputy.” Hollypaw’s POV I kept telling myself, How long are you going to keep doing this, Hollypaw? Sitting by the fresh-kill pile, not even eating anything, watching all the apprentice couples who will become future mates? It didn’t even matter that I only really knew one couple sharing tongues around me: Leafpaw and that rude Special Guard member, Bramblepaw. I heard a delicate crunching of bones and turned to see Stormpaw gingerly biting into a bluebird. “Have you ever shared tongues with anybody?” I asked. “And by anybody, I mean someone you would consider a future mate?” “Yes,” he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “If by somebody, you mean the tender places between my toes and paw pads.” I narrowed my eyes at him, half-jokingly. “No, I haven’t,” he admitted. “But I want to.” I looked over again at Leafpaw and Bramblepaw, who were lovingly saying goodbye to each other. Stormpaw must have noticed what I was looking at, because he stepped in front of me with a dead-serious look on his face. “Okay, stop it right there, Hollypaw. We are in Glee Club. That means we are at the bottom of the social fresh-kill pile. Injured apprentices like Ravenpaw and Briarpaw get more attention that we do.” I twitched my whiskers in amusement. Even when talking about depressing subjects, Stormpaw always seemed to have a playful hint in his voice. “The only thing that gets me by,” he continued, his own whiskers twitching, “is knowing that we are better than them. We will be the future leaders of McKinleyClan while they clean the ticks off the elders.” I purred loudly. In response, he wrapped his tail around mine, and we walked towards the training hollow, just like that. I felt the same joyful feeling I got when I sang. “What colorful ribbons are you wearing on the Battle for Longtail patrol?” he asked, noticing the magenta rag I had around my tail. “Is there a separate code about style that we still need to learn?” I teased. “No, but every moment of your life is about fashion.” He looked down at his own accessories, three golden bracelets that were worn around his left front paw. “I found these at the Carrionplace. How about we go hunting and stop by there to find new accessories after our training sessions?” “Sure!” I mewed. I hadn’t gone on a hunting patrol with any of the other apprentices before, aside from the assigned ones. “I’ll see you later.” Stormpaw headed towards Thornclaw, his mentor. I stared after him, not noticing that Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw were approaching me from behind. “I smell a future mate for you,” Squirrelpaw sang in her weak voice. “I don’t think he likes me that way,” I meowed shyly. “Oh, I think he does,” purred Leafpaw. “Just follow our lead,” added Squirrelpaw. “We’ve got your back.” Fireheart’s POV The other Acafellas and I knew our name was growing in McKinleyClan, but we had no idea the other Clans knew anything about us. So we were pretty surprised when several messengers from the other Clans came to McKinleyClan’s camp to ask us to perform at the next Gathering. We happily obliged. It felt great to be standing on top of the Great Rock, singing “Poison” with the other toms to several Clans of cats. I spotted familiar faces in the crowd: Whitestorm, Willowpelt, Sandstorm, Spottedleaf, Onestar… In my own little way, I felt I was finally a star. Well, except for the fact that Spottedleaf was enthusiastically cheering Tigerclaw’s name instead of mine. A little too enthusiastically. When I got down from the Great Rock, Whitestorm and Willowpelt ran up to me. “Every cat loves you!” shouted Whitestorm. “You did fabulous!” added Willowpelt, her usual hyper self. She saw a few of her friends from the other Clans and trotted up to say hello to them. “I bet my grand-kit’s going to love you singing these songs,” my father purred proudly. “Flame Shoe!” I turned to see Onestar approach me. “That was an amazing performance!” “Thank you,” I mewed. “If you haven’t heard, there will be a first-ever Leaders’ Meeting at the same time as the Medicine Cats’ Meeting this moon,” he meowed. “It’ll be here at Fourtrees, and I want you to be the main event. We need to keep the other leaders happy. They just found out the Special Guard has been stealing prey from their territory and using their hunting grounds as dirtplaces.” Speechless about both the offer and the news about the Special Guard, I nodded my acceptance. “You know what the other cats said to me as we were leaving Fourtrees?” I told the other Acafellas as we walked back to camp. “They compared me to that singing Twoleg, Michael Buble. I heard most of them say that. And they said you, Tigerclaw, had a smooth voice like a rolling fog. And you, Deadfoot, proved you don’t need great paws to be the wanted mate of nearly all the she-cats at the Gathering.” Tigerclaw gave out a yowl of victory, and Deadfoot padded the ground with his mangled paws in excitement. “What did they say about me?” asked Barley eagerly. “Um,” I stammered, feeling uncomfortable. “They, er, said you were great, Barley, Really great. In any case, they loved the Acafellas.” “Oh, congratulations on your performance, Fireheart,” a sarcastic voice hissed through the trees. Darkstripe eerily crept out of the bushes and walked alongside us. “By the way, I want in.” I opened my mouth to make a sly remark at him. “Don’t say anything, Fireheart. I have one thing to say: Ashfur. He’s coming to the Leaders’ Meeting.” “Who is Ashfur?” asked Barley hesitantly. “Who is Ashfur, kill yourself!” snarled Darkstripe in disbelief. “He is a spirit-turned-kit-turned-apprentice-turned-warrior-turned-loner sent down from StarClan to deliver sweet-sounding music unto us. And if he were here, I would bash you to death with the hollowed log Onestar gave him to live in after he saved McKinleyClan from a fire several years ago—before you were here—and transformed from an outcast loner who decided he didn’t want anything to do with Clan life to a feline Josh Groban, who still refuses to live with the Clans because they don’t accept music.” “Why would he come to the Leaders’ Meeting, then?” asked Tigerclaw. “Because I invited him,” mewed Darkstripe impatiently, as if it were obvious. “Ashfur and I have been friends since we almost got hit by the same car in Twolegplace. And being my own personal friend, he is only interested if I am in the group.” “No, Darkstripe,” I meowed firmly, going through the tunnel leading to camp that Darkstripe wasn’t allowed in. “We have standards.” I glanced over at the Acafellas—messy-furred Tigerclaw, nearly paw-less Deadfoot, and absolutely clueless Barley—who followed me through the tunnel. “Alright, then,” Darkstripe called after us. “But there have been rumors—they say he’s looking for a group of cats to join him in Twolegplace, to show the Twolegs their stardom and become famous! Like what the Cheerios did to get those heaters in the winter, except this time, it’ll be even bigger!” Hollypaw’s POV “Great StarClan, Stormpaw, that’s a nice hat,” I remarked as Featherpaw, Mothpaw, Squirrelpaw, Leafpaw, Sorrelpaw, and I saw him approaching the entrance tunnel to AdrenalineClan’s camp. Since we finished training at different times, we agreed to wait outside of the camp before going in to face Longtail together. Stormpaw was the only tom that agreed to show up. “Thanks,” replied Stormpaw, adjusting his hat, which was the same type that Twolegs wore in old Western movies. “I found it just outside of Twolegplace just after I began my training. My dad said I could wear it as long as I stopped wearing Twoleg sweaters.” I looked over the red hand-knit clothing he had somehow managed to get on and blinked. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he muttered, heading into the tunnel. We all followed after him. “How do we know Vocal Adrenaline rehearses right now?” asked Squirrelpaw. “Vocal Adrenaline rehearses everyday from sunhigh to moonhigh,” meowed Featherpaw breathlessly. Mothpaw opened her mouth in shock. I shivered, thinking about practicing that long. I mean, I love music and singing, but doing it everyday would just take the fun out of it. Stormpaw noticed I was shivering and wrapped his tail around my own. “I’m just so worried that these Vocal Adrenaline apprentices will laugh at us,” I murmured, looking around the bustling camp as a warrior led us to the special underground den that the show choir trained in. “They’re so cool and popular, and we look like pieces of crowfood.” “Those sweaty foxes are nothing compared to us,” meowed Stormpaw. “We have more heart. And I love that red and white towel on your tail,” he added. “It looks amazing.” I glanced over at Squirrelpaw, Leafpaw, and Sorrelpaw. All three of them nodded and twitched their whiskers. “So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime,” I mewed hesitantly. He looked at me and purred, “I’d love to.” “Oh my StarClan!” Featherpaw ran in front of us, her mouth agape as she stared at two she-cats standing by the entrance to the Vocal Adrenaline den. Well, one of them was standing and comforting the other, who was vomiting onto the ground. “That’s Brook!” Featherpaw squeaked, her eyes sparkling at the sick she-cat. “She performed at the Gathering a few moons ago—she was amazing!” “You can’t leave rehearsals for any reason,” the other she-cat was saying to Brook. “That includes greencough.” “Are you two part of Vocal Adrenaline?” asked Featherpaw. “We’d like to talk to Longtail about choreographing for our Glee Club.” “Don’t,” whimpered Brook. “He’s a monster.” Click here to watch Vocal Adrenaline perform “Mercy”: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vlVWnnKDZI “GET OFF MY STAGE!” yelled Longtail. He wasn’t exactly what I expected: small, a little chubby, and an attitude much bigger than himself. As the performance was finished, I looked over and saw Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw exchange a glance. I blinked, but put it out of my mind. “Longtail!” yowled Featherpaw before he could leave. “Please, no sharing tongues,” he meowed without looking at us. “We’re the McKinleyClan Glee Club, New Directions,” mewed Featherpaw. “W-we’d like you to choreograph for us,” stammered Mothpaw. Longtail trotted over to us and sighed. “Look, I need 8 hares for every performance I choreograph, plus 10 hares extra if you place in the top three Glee Clubs. And with me in control, you will place in the top three.” And he left us all standing there in the huge Vocal Adrenaline den, quiet as mice. “How are we going to catch 8 hares for every performance?” whispered Featherpaw. Fireheart’s POV Something was odd about today as Tigerclaw and I practiced our dance moves for the Leaders’ Meeting performance. We just didn’t have the energy we normally had, and Tigerclaw was getting frustrated. “Where is everyone?” asked Tigerclaw, noticing that only half of the Acafellas were here. “I don’t know,” I sighed. “Darkstripe said he last saw Deadfoot going out to hunt. He went to go get him. Ah, here’s Barley!” The black-and-white tom approached us solemnly. “I don’t think I can be in the band anymore,” he murmured before we could say anything. “What?” We were about to do our biggest performance! “Sandstorm wants help with all the nursery duties,” he muttered. “It was never my dream.” He turned around and left me standing there, dumb-founded. “Oh great StarClan!” yowled Tigerclaw. “Oh, hi, Spottedleaf.” I whipped around to see the medicine cat appear out of the entrance tunnel. “Did you see me dancing earlier?” asked Tigerclaw, puffing his chest out. “Oh, was that what that was?” she mewed curiously. “Look, I have some bad news.” “You don’t like me,” meowed Tigerclaw. It wasn’t a question. “Um, no—” “You found another tom?” he whimpered. “Please stop talking. Um, no, it seems the Acafellas pressure has proven too much for Deadfoot.” “What did he do?” I asked. “Darkstripe found him lying in a patch of poppy seeds. He ate as much as I could carry in six leaves, which is a lot, even for him. Darkstripe and a few warriors are bringing him to camp right now, and Onestar suggested that he should stay in my den for several moons.” “That’s just great,” growled Tigerclaw sarcastically. “Acafellas is officially doomed. You know, when I get stressed, I like to hunt—you can probably tell—so I’m going to go do that right now.” He headed off into the woods, leaving me and Spottedleaf alone by the camp entrance. It was late at night; most of the cats were asleep, and the loudest noise came from the occasional hoots of a nearby owl. “It was fun while it lasted,” I sighed. “I don’t think you should give up yet, Fireheart,” meowed Spottedleaf, her ears twitching. “No offence, but you’ve been wrong before.”